Mutiny!
by kneazleFTW
Summary: Hello, my name is Lily Evans, and ever fiber in my body is conspiring against me in hopes of making me fall madly in love with James Potter. LilyJames OneShot!


**Author's Note:** Another OneShot for you, lovies. This time it's a J/L, because we need more of that in this world, wouldn't you agree? I would, but, then again, I said it. Excellent.

Anyway, enjoy and please review. I like it, personally. It's a response to a challenge, so it's all good. In the hood, that is. Word OUT.

**Disclaimer: **All of this belongs to JKR with the small exception of the plot- though there really isn't any. Heehee.

Actually, I lied. The song lyrics are from Regina Spektor's "Fidelity". I adore this song, and I give her all credit of it, as she does so deserve it.

**Warnings:** Fluff-tastic. For those of you who want to know what this means: it means that this story really has no substance- it was written for the sole purpose of stringing the characters about into some bizarre romantic situation. This story also has a bit of a language problem, much to Lily's distress. Enjoy, though, because I like it. (I went italicize-happy in a few spots, also. Hee... hee?)

* * *

_I never loved nobody fully_

_Always one foot on the ground_

_And by protecting my heart truly_

_I got lost in the sounds_

I look down at the silver-gray IPod in my lap and turn up the volume. I can still hear his voice, damnit all. He's going on about dating again, and I feel the need to move my foot just close enough to his shin to get good time in kicking it should he make a move. The IPod itself was a gift from my friend Alice for my sixteenth birthday, and, though I don't understand how she got it and all of the music on it (Time Turners and the idea of personal computers baffle me, so it's a lost cause trying to ask questions and follow along with the answers), it's definately useful.

Well, it was, before Mr. James Potter yanked one of the ear pieces out of my ear and broke it off, the great prat. Now I can hear him, and he is, in fact, asking me out. Again.

_I hear in my mind  
All of these voices  
I hear in my mind all of these words  
I hear in my mind all this music_

I've always wondered what it'd be like to kill someone. I mean, besides the inevitable splatter of blood here and there that would come with all of the _fun_ methods, it'd be a grand time, and it'd rid me of many headaches, I'm sure.

Of course, if James Potter doesn't take his foot off of my calf, all of my wondering will be done away with.

I tell him as much- he doesn't seem to care. Maybe I could take off a finger- just one. Just. Two. No! No, Lily, you're not to take off three of James Potter's fingers- no matter how much it would ease your stress.

Damn it, this whole "thinking" thing is useless.

"Potter, if you don't remove that offensive appendage from my leg, I'll be forced to alter your anatomy to make you quite the unhappy little camper."

Years of Quidditch do the reflexes good, apparently. Potter's foot is gone, and he looks absolutely distressed at the thought of me carrying through with my threat. Only years and years of destroying the ego that belonged to the one and only James Potter are keeping the malicious grin from my face. It's hard sometimes, when I do something so very ingenious, but we learn to do what makes us happiest, and letting Potter think I am completely willing to do something so crude made me happy. Abso-bloody-lutely ecstatic.

And it breaks my heart  
And it breaks my heart  
And it breaks my heart  
It breaks my heart

"Go out with me, Evans. I'll make it worth your while."

"No, Potter." Though, I was _just_ thinking that two hours of groping mixed in with the occasional burst of cruel and unusual torture would be worth my while. O, Sarcasm, what would I be without thee?

"C'mon Evans- you'll never know until you try," he coerced. Gag. Gag, gag, gag. Where's my ever-so-handy rusty spoon? Maybe I can dig my eardrum out of my head and save myself from _this_ cruel and unusual torture.

"Ignorance is bliss. Go away."

"Make me."

"You're being childish," I tell him, though it is hardly anything that came as a surprise. Is there _ever_ a moment when Potter isn't being childish? I didn't think so.

"It's all a part of my charm."

My head snaps up to allow me to look into his eyes. "Charm" is _hardly_ a word that I would tape beneath his name plaque. He is anything but charming- in fact, he and charm are on the other side of the word from one another. Charm has never met James Potter, and he probably can't spell it.

Shut up brain, shut up.

I glance down at my paper once again. The library is absolutely _freezing_ at night- apparently it keeps the books in better condition. Can't a _spell _do that? Not to state the obvious or anything sensible, Merlin forbid. A shiver runs down my back even with my cloak and sweater vest to keep such a thing from happening. Damn it!

Where on earth have I gotten this mouth from?

"It's bloody cold in here, isn't it, Evans?"

Ah,_ that_ answers _that_ question.

And suppose I never, ever met you  
Suppose we never fell in love  
Suppose I never, ever let you kiss me so sweet and so soft

"All the better to make you leave, Potter," I snip, shooting my darkest glare his way. He seems unaffected. Damn him! I mean- darn him! (Note to self: as of now, your mouth shall be clean, Evans!)

"Evans, why won't you go out with me?" he pouts in his "sexy" voice (as I had the _mis_fortune of hearing his best friend, and partner in crime, Sirius, dub it) I can just _feel_ that dratted ego of his suffocating me yet again.

You're an arrogant, immature pri--- jerk who can't tell when a girl means NO! my mind screams, and I have to agree.

'Plus,' I tell my brain, 'he probably doesn't even know the color of my eyes.'

My mind seems to like that thought. Just another boy out for the fun of the chase. Ars--- jerk.

Huzzah! Two points for my mind- take that, Mr. Foul Mouth!

"They're green, Evans," James says, and I look up at him, and I reckon shock is painted across my face in large, block letters that screams "HOLY SH----NAPS, I MUST HAVE SAID THAT **ALOUD**, _AND_ YOU GOT IT **RIGHT**!"

(Three points- good job, brain!)

"Don't look so surprised," he snaps, and I am, once again, left without something to say in retort. "I'm not blind, Evans. Give me something harder."

Oooh, that ARSE! (Ouch- minus that last point there.) Does he honestly think this to be a game? I will not resort to such childish-

"What's my middle name?"

Crap! Crap, crap, crap! I did it, didn't I? I've played_ right_ into his hands! Oh, just look at him, brain! He's smiling at us! Er, well... me. I'm not a_ loon_ or anything, but, still. He's smiling now.

Oh, my. I don't think I've _ever _seen James Potter smile like _that_. It's very-

Ooooh, stop it, brain! Stop it!

"Your middle name is _Jayne_, Evans. Next question," he answers with that lazy smile plastered to his face. It's bizarre- almost like he's been waiting for this. But no, that would be far too... dare I say it? Romantic. There. I said it. I dared, and now it's out there. That would be too _romantic_ for the great bum-oley that is the Potter boy... Ooooh, don't stare at me like that Ja--- Potter. You've got those eyes. UGLY eyes. Awful eyes. So very nice, warm-

"My favorite color?" my voice squeaks out. Darn it- it's gotten this nasty habit of betrayal.

I'll bet it learned from Alice- she's the one that has the pool in the Commons as to when me and Ye Old King Prat (Potter) will first kiss. Yiiiiick-_ kiss_ James Potter? Never. That would be an act against the very nature of all things alive. The stars would fall from the sky and fire would rain down on the earth. Dumbledore would be removed from the Chocolate Frogs cards! _The _Apocalypse _would be upon us_!

"Lavender," he says, and I begin the long and tedious process of cursing him to twelve different levels of Hell. That's right. _Twelve_. "But you think that you look horrible in it, so you never wear it. I think that's ridiculous, as does Sirius. You should wear it sometime- you'll never know..."

He doesn't know what he's talking about. The color of my hair and _lavender_ of all things. He's off his rocker if he even thinks that... Maybe with gold eye shadow. Ooooh, he's done it again. That jerk! I swear- just _one_ finger. And maybe a toe. Maybe. If I'm well-behaved.

Suppose I never, ever saw you  
Suppose you never, ever called  
Suppose I kept on singing love songs just to break my own fall

"What's wrong, Evans? Can't believe that I could possibly care even the _tiniest_ bit? Scared that _maybe_ you won't be just another notch in my bedpost?" he taunts, and his eyes are angry at me. That smile sits on his lips, and his shoulders are relaxed, but those eyes of his- such UGLY eyes, brain, stop thinking about them!- are angry with me. What have _**I **_done? _**He**_'s the jerk! **_He_**'s used as many girls as he possibly could as if the were _tissues_ for Merlin's sake! Notch in his bedpost my arse- like he can _fit _anymore on his bedpost. They're probably on his headboards within his own _mother_'s home, shame on him!

Plus, even if he _were_ right (which he is** not**), he can't _possibly _expect me to turn around and jump at him. That's hardly something that Lily Jayne Evans would do without being placed under the Imperious Curse. Or at a Christmas party with long-since-expired eggnog. _That_ was an experience. But that's beside the point.

But, as I said, he's not right. So ha! Take that, brain. And before this, I thought you were on _my_ side. I really must speak to Alice about her influence on you. It simply won't do.

"Potter-" I begin, suddenly feeling the need to defend myself from those eyes.

"Forget it, Evans," he grins, "I was just teasing."

His eyes are still angry.

"You're a liar."

Oooh! My mouth has betrayed me, too! How ridiculous! James's eyes widen a fraction, and the anger within their hazel space falls back to be covered by something else. His grin widens.

"I-I mean... I-I..." Stop stammering! Stop! Oh, I'll never hear the end of this. "Never mind." I push my chair away from the table and stood, gathering my things. My IPod falls to the ground, and the headphone falls with it. The world comes back to me in a rush of new, quieter sounds, but the humming of my music can still be heard from the IPod's place on the floor- thank Merlin for protecting charms.

"Oh no you don't," James snaps quickly, reaching out and grabbing my wrist. It tingles a bit, and I like it quite a lot.

Not my hand, too! Damn it all, and to hell with the points!

"Let go of my wrist, Potter," I say weakly as I pray to every deity I had ever learned the name of that he doesn't catch the funny way the hairs on my offensive appendage are rising. _That_ would be _most _unwanted.

"I don't think I will, Evans. You say I'm a liar- why?" he asks, and I realize that he has an ungodly talent for keeping his voice quiet. It is barely a rumble in his throat as he looks up at me, stretched across the table with one large hand holding my much smaller wrist. His hair is all disheveled, and his eyes seem impossibly large behind the lenses of his square-rimmed glasses that he has taken to wearing since he discovered that the circular lenses too boring for his "up-beat and glowing personality".

How I knew this, I suppose I'll never even know.

James Potter, I'll have you know, has a perfectly shaped nose. It's long enough to fit his face, and it is a perfectly straight incline and sticks out just enough and doesn't do that annoying thing that mine does where it tips up at the end. He also has magnificent cheek bones- all high and such not, as if they want to help his glasses stay on. Pretty mouth, too- all bow shaped and wide, perfect for-

Brain, you have betrayed me one time too many!

"J-James, please let go of my wrist," I beg (self-respect is overrated, anyway), resorting to the ever-popular "Damsel in Distress" method. He doesn't budge, the little bugger. He just keeps on staring up at me as if I am the only thing he cares for (besides his own self, as we all know).

"Evans, are you nervous?" he asks arrogantly. I would hit him, but, like I said, my brain is sending all the wrong signals throughout my body, and "Hit James Potter this very INSTANT!" has somehow morphed into "Jump on this boy and snog him within an inch of his LIFE!". Stupid brain. Stupid voice. Stupid arm. Stupid, STUPID James Potter!

"Y-You're off your rocker, Potter," I say, attempting to steel my voice against the vibrato it had taken to.

"Am I, Evans? Because you seem _very_ nervous," he whispers, moving upward slightly though his lower body stays in place. He's really _far_ too tall for anyone's good. I should hack out his shins. He won't miss them too badly.

Oh dear, he's really _too_ close to my face for it to be safe.

Just to break my fall  
Just to break my fall  
Just to break my fall  
Break my fall  
Break my fall

"Potter, what are you- mmmmmmph!"

I. Cannot. BELIEVE. Him! His arrogance astounds me! He's actually covered my lips with his! He's touched me with those- those- oh _my_. He is _quite_ the kisser, isn't he?

You know, I'm beginning to get the idea that, maybe, just maybe, my body got it right for once. His lips are all nice and soft, and he smells like... like a _boy_. He was all freshly cut grass and butterbeer with a hint of my own scent due to our proximity. I can feel my hair falling from the extremely loose tie I had placed around it earlier, and it is now curtaining us in a veil of red. He smiles against my lips, and I can't help but think it immensely cute, and it doesn't even feel like that blasted smirk of his. That perfect nose is just barely grazing my cheeks, and I lift my hands to hesitantly cup those lovely cheekbones when I hear a noise that must be the perfect imitation of a cat trying to get out of a bucket of water.

We jump apart (or, at least, attempt to, as James still has a tight grip on my wrist) to see a fuming Madame Pince, who's thrown her hands up sporadically to help us train her words along into a coherent train of thought. Just when I begin to think that she's gone completely loony, her eyes harden on me, and she points a shaky finger in my direction. How old _is _this lady? There must be a thousand wrinkles on that one finger _alone_!

"I thought you'd know better, Miss Evans," she says in a whisper-hiss voice. "Apparently, I was wrong."

"Obviously," James says from his place across the table from me, and I can feel my ears begin to burn. I shoot him my darkest glare, but he's just resorted to that awful habit of running his hand through that mane of thick hair on top of his head while not paying attention to me.

"It won't happen again, Madame Pince," I tell her, bowing my head.

She tuts, and I resist the urge to roll my eyes. "It'd best not, Miss Evans. I'm _so_ disappointed in you..." And then she walks away- robes flowing behind her in a tumble of dust and cloth. I wonder how old that particular pair of robes is before turning to Ja--- Potter.

"That never happened," I tell him forcefully.

He smiles. "What never happened, Evans?"

"That- that thing."

"Why, I've no notion of what you're talking about," he says, and I wonder what he's playing at as I narrow my eyes even further. "Care to refresh my memory?"

No, I do not want to refresh your memory. I don't even what to remember it myself, let alone give you anymore than you've already taken, I say (er-- think) to myself and my brain.

But, you see, my body seems to have decided that I'm no longer worth paying attention to, and, before I know it, my lips are touching the Great Prat's once again, and my brain is telling me that I'm enjoying it. He's doing this thing to my lips that must be illegal in places, and I find that, in all my hatred for the git, I _do_ enjoy it. Quite a lot, actually.

All my friends say that of course it's gonna get better  
Gonna get better, better, better, better, better,  
Better, better, better .

Oh well, I suppose the brain knows best.

_Some_times.

* * *

**Author's Note:** And so ends my first completed work of JamesLily goodness. It's yummy, wouldn't you agree? I would, but, then again, I said it. 

Reviews keep me writing.

For those of you wondering about why I wrote this, it's for a Fic Exchange at The Final Prophecy HP forums (E-Mail me for link.) The request I filled out asked for the following:

_What would you like in your fic?_  
humour, wholesome, of course.  
_Rating?_ Let's keep it T? (PG-13) Yeah.  
_Ship?_ Draco/Hermione, James/Lily, or Remus/Tonks  
_Genre?_ Romance/Humour (I hate angst, please)  
_Name Three things you'd like your fic to include:_

Ermm.. I'd like First Person point of view (preferably the female character), some sense of self-doubt (which would make it fun to read and write), and them using a celfone or iPod or any modern muggle technology.

_Name Three things you DON'T want your fic to include:_

Because I don't like angst, I'd like that they won't linger much on the bad things going on like the war or friends dying. Maybe just in passing, but not too much. It depresses me. Ermm.. I also don't like them to be in a park out in sunlight. To gay for me. And, I'd also like that they won't stray too much from the way J.K. Rowling seems to make them be. (Am I making sense?) O,o Yeah.

Again, do the best you can, if it doesn't fit perfectly that's okay.


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